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The  Dread  Apache— That 

Early-Day  Scourge  of 

the  Southwest 


By 
DR.  M.  P.  FREEMAN 


Tucson,  Arizona 

November  14 

1915 


The  Dread  Apache — That 

Early-Day  Scourge  of 

the  Southwest 


JFREE 


DR.  M.  P.FREEMAN 


Tucson,  Arizona 

November  14 

1915 


: 


The  Dread  Apache — That 
Early-Day  Scourge  of 
the  Southwest 

BY  DR.  M.  P.  FREEMAN 


A  short  time  ago,  idling  through  a 
collection  of  early  day  photographs,  I 
came  across  two  that  vividly  recalled 
the  closing  scenes  in  that  bloody  fron- 
tier drama  in  which  the  Apache  was 
the  chief  actor.  For  many  years  the 
relentless  foe  of  the  pioneer,  wary, 
tireless,  cowardly  and  treacherous,  he 
was  the  very  incarnation  of  fiendish- 
ness,  if  possible,  more  pronounced  in 
the  squaw  than  in  the  man.  Never 
meeting  you  in  the  open,  always  in  am- 
bush, concealed  behind  the  big  granite 
boulder,  the  point  of  a  hill  or  a  clump 
of  brush,  he  and  his  fellows  patiently 
awaited  your  solitary  coming,  all  un- 
conscious of  danger,  then — the  crack 
of  the  rifle  and  it  is  all  over.  Today 
he  might  be  a  "sniper",  but  in  the  days 
of  his  hellish  activities  the  word  had 
not  yet  been  given  its  more  recently 
enlarged  meaning. 

2000  Pioneers  Victims  of  Apaches. 

Kow  many  breakers  of  the  wilder- 
ness, hardy,  fearless  old-timers,  were 
sent  to  their  final  rest  by  this  early 
scourge  of  the  desert,  who  can  say! 
Some  placa  their  number  at  two  thou- 
sand, some  say  more,  others  less.  This 
does  not  include  the  soldier  boy, 
whose  profession  it  is  to  risk  his  life, 
and  when  necessary,  his  duty,  its  sac- 
rifice. Of  the  number  of  these  there 
is  probably  a  record  somewhere,  but  of 
the  old  pioneer,  only  an  estimate.  In 
the  valley,  on  the  mesa  and  the  hill- 
side, on  the  mountain-top  and  in  the 
deep  shadows  of  the  canyon,  every- 
where this  broad  land  is  dotted  with 
their  unknown  and  unmarked  graves. 


Captain  John  G.  Bourke,  author  of 
"On  the  Border  with  Crook,"  and  "An 
Apache  Campaign,"  who  was  with  Gen. 
Crook,  tells  us  that  the  Apache  "is  no 
coward,  but  that  he  has  no  false  ideas 
a-bout  courage,  that  he  would  prefer  to 
skulk  like  a  coyote  for  hours  and  then 
kill  his  enemy,  rather  than  by  inju- 
dicious exposure  receive  a  wound." 
May  we  not  attribute  to  the  chivalrous 
spirit  of  Capt.  Bourke,  not  to  criticize 
a  foe,  his  delicate  way  of  putting  this? 

No,  I  do  not  recall  that  this  early 
plague  of  the  old  pioneer  ever  "inju- 
diciously exposed"  himself  unless  driv- 
en to  it.  "Skulking  like  the  coyote,"  as 
Capt.  Bourke  so  well  expresses  it,  is 
my  conception  of  his  bravery.  If 
forced  to  the  open  he  would  undoubted- 
ly make  a  brave  fight,  but  I  have  never 
heard  of  his  voluntarily  seeking  that 
open,  meeting  his  enemy  on  anything 
approaching  equal  terms. 

Paris  Adopts  Name  of  Apache 

Being  over  in  Paris  a  few  years  ago, 
a  friend  who  had  lived  there  a  number 
of  years,  and  who  was  as  familiar  with 
Paris  from  basement  to  roof-garden,  as 
I  am  with  Congress  street  of  our  good 
old  town  of  Tucson,  suggested  one 
evening  that  we  visit  the  "Apaches". 
Expressing  surprise  that  any  of  my 
people  should  have  wandered  so  far 
from  home,  I  suggested  as  a  substi- 
tute the  Moulin  Rouge.  However,  the 
Apaches  were  agreed  on,  and  in  the 
evening,  my  friend,  bringing  a  police- 
man with  him,  called  for  me  at  my 
hotel. 


Arriving  at  the  door  of  the 
Apache  rendezvous  in  due  course,  we 
three — my  friend,  the  policeman  and 
myself — are  readily  admitted,  the  pres- 
ence of  our  policeman  assuring  that, 
and  we  find  ourselves  in  an  under- 
ground dive,  a  large  room  with  a  low 
ceiling,  'barely  furnished,  dimly  lighted, 
and  reeking  with  the  sour  odor  of  stale 
beer.  Looking  about  the  room,  by  the 
dim  light  as  it  forces  its  way  through 
the  dense  gloom  of  tobacco  smoke,  we 
are  enabled  to  see  two  other  police- 
men besides  our  own — there  are  two 
stationed  there  day  and  night— and  a 
score  or  more  of  the  toughest-looking 
lot  of  cut-throats  I  had  ever  had  the 
pleasure  of  coming  in  contact  with. 
This  was  the  retreat,  the  gathering 
place,  of  as  bad  a  lot  of  thieves,  thugs, 
robbers,  burglars  and  murderers  as  the 
world  could  boast  of,  and  Paris,  in 
seeking  a  name  for  them  that  would 
embody  all  of  these  characteristics, 
had  searched  the  world  over,  and  was 
almost  in  despair  of  finding  a  single 
word  that  would  express  all  that  is 
mean,  wantonly  cruel,  murderous  and 
cowardly,  but  at  last  attention  was  di- 
rected to  the  Apache  of  Arizona,  and 
then  it  was  discovered  that  the  word 
which  would  embody  all  that  and  more 
had  been  found.  And  that  was  why  1 
was  enabled  to  find  some  of  my  own 
home  people  away  off  there  in  the 
world's  center  of  fashion.  Settling  for 
a  few  bottles  of  the  vilest  beer  possible 
to  brew,  as  a  tip  to  the  house,  I  was 
soon  ready  to  ask  my  Mend  to  call  his 
policeman  and  get  us  away  from  this 
vile  den. 
Judge  McComas  and  Wife  Murdered. 

It  is  scarcely  more  than  a  quarter  of 
a  century,  March,  18*3,  since  Judge  Mc- 
Comas, his  wife  and  their  little  son 
Charlie,  about  seven  years  of  age,  com- 
ing from  Silver  City,  New  Mexico,  to 
Lordsburg,  were  ambushed  by  a  band 
of  Apaches  from  San  Carlos,  the  Judge 
and  his  wife  killed,  and  poor  little 
Charlie  carried  off  to  the  Sierra  Madres 


in  Mexico,  where,  a  few  years  later,  an 
Apache  squaw  reported  that  on  their 
camp  being  attacked  by  United  States 
troops,  Charlie,  being  frightened,  ran 
off  into  the  mountains,  where  he  is  sup- 
posed to  have  died  of  hunger  and  ex- 
posure. 

It  was  during  this  same  year  that  a 
band  passing  over  the  Whetstone 
range  of  mountains  killed  a  teamster 
and  *wo  of  his  msn  and  a  wood-chop- 
per, who  were  furnishing  wood  for  the 
Total  Wreck  mine. 

On  July  3,  1885,  Frank  Peterson,  who 
was  carrying  the  United  States  mail 
between  Crittenden  and  Lochiel,  was 
killed  by  the  Indians  while  returning 
from  Lochiel  to  Crittenden.  A  sad  fea- 
ture in  connection  with  this  killing  was 
that  he  had  just  been  married. 
Dr.  Davis  Shot  to  Death. 

On  June  3,  1886,  Dr.  C.  H.  Davis,  a 
brother  of  W.  C.  Davis,  of  Tucson,  com- 
ing from  the  San  Pedro  river  over  the 
pass  between  the  Catalinas  and  the 
Rincons,  with  a  wagon  and  span  of 
mules,  was  waylaid  and  killed  by  a 
band  of  these  outlaws.  J.  P.  Hohusen 
and  W.  H.  Wheaton,  coming  from  their 
homes  on  the  San  Pedro  the  day  be- 
fore, met  Dr.  Davis  going  out,  and 
warned  him  against  the  Indians,  but 
having  been  in  the  country  but  a  short 
time,  he  failed  to  appreciate  the  danger 
and  made  light  of  the  warning. 

It  was  subsequently  learned  that 
Hohusen  and  Wheaton  narrowly  escap- 
ed this  same  band  themselves  as  they 
were  coming  in  to  Tucson.  When  Ho- 
husen returned  horns  he  learned  from 
his  man  that  the  Indians  had  been  at 
his  place  the  night  before  the  killing 
of  Davis,  and  attempted  to  drive  off 
some  of  his  horses  from  the  pasture; 
but  the  man,  seizing  his  rifle,  jumped 
into  a  well  which  was  partly  caved  in 
and  which  naturally  furnished  him  an 
excellent  defensive  position,  and  from 
this  he  fired  at  the  Indians,  but  with- 
out apparent  effect  other  than  to  force 
them  to  leave  the  place.  After  the 


killing  of  Dr.  Davis,  the  Indians,  tak- 
ing the  two  mules,  went  to  Walter 
Vail's  Happy  Valley  ranch,  in  the  Rin- 
cons,  where  they  left  the  mules  in  ex- 
change for  a  bunch  of  Vail's 
horses,  shooting,  but  not  killing, 
Cal  Mathews,  the  herder.  From 
Happy  Valley  they  passed  south 
into  the  Whetstones,  where  they 
shot  and  killed  Marcus  Goldbaum. 
Edward  L.  Vail,  one  of  the  party  going 
out  to  the  scene  of  the  killing,  found 
that  the  Indians  had  been  gone  but  a 
few  hours,  having  also  killed  a  partner 
of  Goldbaum  as  he  was  en  route  to 
Benson.  ?^j 

Little  Boy  Taken  From  Gastelo  Ranch. 

It  was  not  long  prior  to  this  that  a 
band  working  back  from  th©  Sierra 
Madres  to  the  San  Carlos  reservation 
attacked  the  ranch  of  Juan  Gastelo, 
not  over  fifteen  miles  from  Tucson, 
near  Tanque  Verde,  and  carried  off 
with  them  a  little  Mexican  boy.  The 
news  coming  to  town,  a  volunteer  com- 
pany was  immediately  formed  by  M.  G. 
Samaniego  (now  dead)  and  'R.  N. 
Leatherwood,  our  Bob.  Samaniego, 
having  had  a  brother  killed  by  the 
Apaches  a  few  years  before,  was  more 
than  keen  for  an  opportunity  to  avenge 
his  death.  The  volunteer  company,  led 
by  Leatherwood  and  Samaniego,  came 
upon  the  band,  encamped  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Tanque  Verde.  The 
Indians,  however,  being  alarmed  by 
the  premature  firing  of  a  gun,  scatter- 
ed like  a  flock  of  quail  and  got  away, 
but  the  boy,  escaping,  was  recovered 
by  the  volunteers. 

On  another  occasion  a  band,  killing 
a  rancher  named  Lloyd,  four  miles 
north  of  Pantano,  stole  the  horses  of 
Ed  Vail  and  George  Scholefield,  near 
Rosemont,  and  passing  on  south,  killed 
a  man  named  Wimple,  near  Greater- 
ville. 

Mexicans   Attack    and    Rob    Wheaton. 

A   trying   experience   in  the  life   of 

Wheaton,   who   narrowly   escaped   the 

band  that  killed  Dr.  Davis,  was  when 


four  Mexicans  came  to  his  ranch  on 
the  San  Pedro  river  one  evening,  he 
being  entirely  alone  at  the  time,  and 
demanded  his  money,  which  they  said 
they  knew  him  to  have  from  the  sale 
of  some  hogs.  He,  however,  denying 
that  he  had  any  money,  they  proceeded 
to  put  a  rope  round  his  neck,  and 
strung  him  up  three  or  four  times, 
each  time  demanding  that  he  tell 
where  the  money  was  concealed,  and 
he  still  denying  that  he  had  any.  Dur- 
ing all  this  time  they  were  trying  to 
find  where  the  money  was  hidden,  and 
finally  discovered  it,  about  $60,  in  the 
window  casing.  Then  the  question 
was  debated  as  to  what  they  should 
do  with  Wheaton;  whether  or  not  they 
should  kill  him.  This  they  evidently 
hesitated  to  do,  but  finally  decided  to 
take  him  out  and  throw  him  into  his 
well,  probably  having  in  mind  that 
this  would  not  kill  him,  but  would 
make  him  a  close  prisoner  for  a  time. 
On  taking  him  to  the  well,  however, 
they  found  it  to  be  a  bored  one  and 
therefore  only  eight  or  ten  inches  in 
diameter.  Of  course  this  frustrated 
that  plan,  and  they  returned  him  to  the 
house,  and  throwing  him  on  his  bed, 
proceeded  to  tie  him,  and  after  threat- 
ening to  kill  him  in  case  he  at  any  time 
made  them  any  trouble  over  the  affair, 
they  left  him.  As  soon  as  they  were 
gone  Wheaton  succeeded  in  releasing 
himself  and  went  to  the  home  of  J.  P. 
Hohusen,  not  far  away,  naturally  near- 
ly prostrated  from  his  fright  and  the 
terrible  ordeal  through  which  he  had 
just  passed.  The  next  day  Wheaton, 
accompanied  by  Ira  Davis,  a  brother  of 
Dr.  Davis,  came  to  Tucson  and  report- 
ed the  case  to  Judge  C.  H.  Meyer,  an 
old-time  justice  of  the  peace. 
"Old  Charley  Meyer,"  Law  Unto  Him- 
self. 

Old  'Charlie  Meyer,  as  he  was  famil- 
iarly called,  was  indeed  a  character, 
and  had  the  well-earned  reputation  of 
meeting  out  justice  with  an  iron  hand, 
and,  due  in  a  large  measure  to  his  ec- 


centric  methods  of  administering  jus- 
tice, was  quite  popular  with  the  well 
meaning,  but  certainly  a  terror  to  the 
evil-doer.  Judge  Meyer's  conception 
of  justice  and  the  language  of  the 
statutes  frequently  failed  to  be  in  full 
harmony,  hut  that,  of  -course,  was  not 
a  matter  for  which  he  was  responsible, 
and  should  not,  and  did  not,  interfere 
in  the  slightest  degree  with  the  admin- 
istration of  justice  in  his  court.  Meyer 
recalled  that  four  Mexicans  had  that 
same  day  come  into  his  court  and,  by 
the  deposit  of  $60  as  bail,  had  secured 
the  release  of  their  friend,  one  El 
Zorra,  who  was  being  held  for  some 
offense,  having  been  unable  until  then 
to  secure  bail.  Three  of  these  four 
men  were  immediately  found  and  ar- 
rested. The  fourth,  having  started  for 
Mexico,  was  followed  by  the  officers 
and  overtaken  at  Boley's  Well,  where, 
in  resisting  arrest,  he  was  shot  and 
killed  by  Bob  Cannon,  one  of  the  of- 
cers.  On  trial  of  the  other  three,  Ho- 
husen  was  able  to  fully  identify  one 
of  the  bills  in  the  $60  turned  in  to 
Judge  Meyer's  court  as  one  that  he  had 
personally  paid  to  Wheaton  a  few  days 
before.  In  addition  to  this,  one  of  the 
men,  Pancho  Gomez,  having  turned 
state's  evidence,  they  were  all  three 
convicted  and  sentenced  to  the  Terri- 
torial prison,  Gomez,  however,  for  a 
shorter  term  than  the  others. 

"Tommy   Gates    Displays    Magnificent 
Nerve. 

While  serving  their  terms,  on  Octo- 
ber 27,  1887,  in  an  attempted  outbreak 
at  the  prison,  in  which  these  men  par- 
ticipated, the  prisoners  succeeded  in 
getting  hold  of  the  superintendent  of 
the  prison,  Thomas  Gates,  familiarly 
known  as  Tommy  Gates,  and  threaten- 
ed to  take  his  life  if  he  permitted  the 
guards  to  fire  on  them.  Notwithstand- 
ing this,  he  ordered  the  guards  to  fire, 
when  one  of  the  Wheaton  convicts,  one 
Puebla,  thrust  a  knife  first  into  his 
shoulder  and  then  into  his  back,  seri- 
ously but  not  fatally  wounding  him. 


Barney  Riggs,  a  life-termer,  then  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  hold  of  a  pistol,  shot 
and  killed  Puebla,  and  for  this  was 
subsequently  pardoned  out,  in  response 
to  the  almost  unanimous  sentiment  of 
the  Territory.  In  the  emeute  four  of 
the  prisoners  were  killed  outright,  and 
Tommy  Gates's  display  of  nerve  on  the 
occasion  goes  into  history  as  a  herioc 
example  of  self  sacrifice  in  the  dis- 
charge of  duty. 

Brutal  Murder  of  Mrs.  Peck  and  Baby. 

On  April  27,  1886,  a  band  of  Indians 
appeared  at  the  ranch  of  A.  L.  Peck, 
about  twenty  miles  from  Oro  Blanco, 
where  they  found  Mrs.  Peck,  her  baby, 
about  eleven  months  old,  and  her 
niece,  Jenny,  a  young  girl  of  about  11 
years.  Killing  Mrs.  Peck  and  the  baby, 
they  took  the  young  girl  away  with 
them.  It  was  asserted  by  some  at  the 
time,  including  Peck  himself,  that  the 
leader  of  this  band  was  Geronimo,  but 
I  think  this  could  hardly  have  bean 
possible,  for  the  reason  that  the  leader 
was  too  young  and  spoke  good  English, 
whereas  Geronimo  did  not  speak  Eng- 
lish. In  giving  the  "Story  of  His  Life" 
to  S.  M.  Barrett,  at  Fort  Sill,  not  many 
years  ago,  it  had  to  be  done  through 
an  interpreter.  Besides,  Geronimo  had 
escaped  from  General  Crook,  sixty-five 
miles  south  of  Fort  Bowie  and  125 
miles  east  of  Oro  Blanco,  on  the  night 
of  March  29th,  only  a  month  previous, 
and  gone  into  the  Sierra  Madre  moun- 
tains. It  is  my  opinion  that  Geronimo 
was  never  seen  in  Arizona  subsequent 
to  that  time  until  he  surrendered  to 
General  Miles  and  was  brought  to  Fort 
Bowie  the  following  September. 

At  the  time  of  the  killing  of  Mrs. 
Peck,  Peck  and  a  young  man  by  the 
name  of  Charles  Owen  were  a  mile  or 
two  away  from  the  house,  'both  beins 
mounted  but  unarmed,  and  were  in  the 
act  of  catching  a  steer.  The  Indians 
surprising  them,  Peck's  horse  was  shot 
from  under  him  and  he  was  captured 
and  held  prisoner.  Owen,  being  well 
mounted,  made  a  dash  for  his  life,  but 


ran  into  another  part  of  the  same 
band.  His  horse  was  shot  from  under 
him,  and  Owen  himself  was  shot 
through  the  neck  and  arm,  killing  him 
instantly.  Those  that  had  Peck  were 
apparently  waiting  for  their  leader  for 
instructions  as  to  what  to  do  with  him. 
The  leader  soon  coming  up,  after  tak- 
ing from  Peck  his  boots,  knife  and  to- 
bacco, they  released  him,  telling  him, 
however,  not  to  go  home.  Before  re- 
leasing him,  one  of  the  Indians,  for 
some  unexplainable  reason,  gave  him 
65  cents  in  money.  A  squaw  with  this 
band  had  little  Jenny  on  a  horse  with 
her.  .lenny  was  crying  bitterly,  and 
when  Peck  attempted  to  talk  with  her 
the  Indians  intervened  and  prevented 
his  doing  so.  About  six  weeks  later 
she  was  rescued  from  the  Indians  by 
some  Mexican  cowboys,  at  a  point 
about  forty  miles  from  Magdalena,  So- 
nora,  where  she  was  delivered  to  Peck, 
who  had  gone  after  her.  As  soon  as 
released,  Peck  went  directly  home, 
where  he  found  his  wife  and  baby  ly- 
ing dead. 
Shannahan  Killed,  "Yank"  Bartlett 

Wounded. 

The  day  following  the  killing 
of  Mrs.  Peck  and  her  baby,  John 
Shanahan,  who  was  unarmed,  left 
"Yank"  Bartlett's  ranch  in  Bear 
Valley,  about  eight  miles  from  Oro 
Blanco,  for  his  own  place,  about 
three  miles  distant,  leaving  at  the 
ranch  with  Bartlett  his  little  son  Phil, 
about  ten  years  of  age,  who  was  there 
visiting  Johnnie  Bartlett,  of  about  the 
same  age.  Shanahan  had  been  gone 
but  about  ten  minutes,  when  Johnnie 
ran  into  the  room  where  his  father 
was,  telling  him  that  he  had  just  heard 
three  shots,  and  that  he  thought  maybe 
the  Indians  had  shot  the  "old  man". 
Bartlett,  who  had  not  heard  of  the  In- 
dians being  in  the  vicinity,  scouted 
the  idea,  but  on  going  outside  saw 
Shanahan  approaching,  and  ran  to  him 
and  assisted  him  into  the  house,  Shan- 
ahan telling  him  that  the  Indians  had 


shot  him.  Bartlett  immediately  seized 
his  gun,  and  on  going  to  the  door  a 
bullet  fired  by  one  of  the  Indians  whist- 
led past  his  head.  There  were  but 
three  of  the  Indians,  but  having  placed 
themselves  in  different  positions,  it 
was  hardly  possible  for  Bartlett  to  get 
a  shot  at  them  without  exposing  him- 
self to  their  fire,  and  one  shot  from 
them  passing  through  his  shoulder, 
only  missed  the  head  of  Johnnie  by 
about  an  inch,  blinding  him  from  the 
dust  of  the  adobe  wall  as  the  bullet 
struck  it.  The  fight  between  Bartlett 
and  the  three  Indians  was  kept  up 
until  dark.  Shanahan,  fatally  wound- 
ed, was  constantly  calling  out  for  wat- 
er. Bartlett  thinks  that  in  the  fight  he 
wounded  one  of  the  Indians. 
Little  Phil  Saves  Mother  and  Sisters 
Shanahan's  story  is  that  a  short  time 
after  leaving  the  house,  being  totally 
unconscious  of  any  danger,  he  was  sud- 
denly shot  by  an  Indian,  whom  he  then 
saw  only  about  thirty  feet  away.  Pick- 
ing up  a  rock  and  starting  for  the  In- 
dian, Shanahan  received  another  shot 
from  behind  that  knocked  him  down, 
but  he  was  immediately  up  again  and 
ran  back  for  the  house,  Bartlett  meet- 
ing and  assisting  him  in.  Shanahan 
saw  but  two  Indians,  and  said  he  could 
have  killed  both  if  he  had  had  a  gun. 
During  the  time  Bartlett  was  keeping 
the  Indians  at  bay,  realizing  the  dan- 
ger of  Mrs.  Shanahan  and  her  two 
young  daughters,  at  their  home  three 
miles  away,  he  told  Phil,  Shanahan's 
little  son,  to  steal  out  of  the  house  by 
a  back  way  and  go  to  his  home  and 
notify  his  mother  of  their  danger  and 
of  the  shooting  of  his  father.  Phil  de- 
murred at  first,  wanting  to  stay  with 
his  father,  who  was  suffering  intensely, 
but  being  told  that  unless  he  went  his 
mother  and  little  sisters  would  surely 
be  killed,  the  little  fellow  courageously 
said  he  would  try  to  get  to  them,  and 
good  fortune  favoring  him,  he  succeed- 
ed in  doing  so.  Finding  them  in  the 
garden,  they  all,  including  Phil,  imme- 


diately  started  for  the  mountains, 
where  they  concealed  themselves  until 
the  following  day.  In  the  meantime 
the  Indians  had  come  to  the  house  and 
carried  off  or  wrecked  everything  in  it, 
and  would  undoubtedly  have  killed 
Mrs.  Shanahan  and  the  two  little  girls 
had  not  brave  little  Phil,  at  the  risk  of 
his  life,  warned  them  of  the  danger. 

Brave  Little  Johnnie  Bartlett. 

Bartlett  kept  the  Indians  off  until 
dark,  when  it  is  probable  they  left,  as 
they  were  not  seen  again.  Soon  after 
dark,  Bartlett  told  Johnnie  that  he 
must  go  to  Oro  Blanco  and  notify  the 
people  of  the  shooting  of  Shanahan 
and  himself,  and  that  Shanahan  was 
probably  dying.  When  little  Johnnie 
was  told  that  he  must  do  this,  like  the 
little  hero  he  was,  he  simply  said:  "All 
right,  papa,"  and  immediately  started, 
first  taking  off  his  shoes  and  going 
barefoot  the  first  mile  or  two,  to  avoid 
making  any  sound.  Johnnie,  on  foot, 
reached  Oro  Blanco,  eight  miles  away, 
about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  and 
gave  the  alarm.  A  posse  was  imme- 
diately made  up  and  started  for  the 
scene  of  the  troubles,  where  they  found 
Shanahan  dead  and  Bartlett  wounded, 
and  the  Indians  evidently  gone. 
General  Crook  Relieved. 

Gen.  George  Crook  came  to  Arizona 
in  1870,  remaining  in  command  of  the 
department  here  until  1875,  when  he 
was  transferred  to  the  department  of 
the  Platte,  and  was  reassigned  and  re- 
turned to  Arizona  in  1882.  In  1886, 
evidently  taking  exception  to  an  im- 
plied criticism  from  the  Department 
at  Washington,  and,  as  he  expressed 
it,  "having  spent  nearly  eight  years  of 
the  hardest  work  of  his  life  in  this  de- 
partment", he  asked  to  be  relieved. 
Crook  was  criticized  in  Arizona  at  the 
time  for  a  too  abiding  faith  in  the  loy- 
alty of  his  Indian  scouts,  and  many  of 
us  believed  this  criticism  to  be  fully 
justified.  There  is  hardly  a  doubt  that 
much  of  the  ammunition  used  by  the 


renegades  was  supplied  them  by  these 
same  scouts.  It  was  but  a  few  months 
prior  to  Crook's  being  relieved  that 
Capt.  Crawford,  a  zealous  and  gallant 
officer,  while  engaged  in  his  thankless 
task  of  ridding  their  own  country  of 
these  pests,  was  treacherously  killed 
by  Mexican  irregular  troops  in  the 
Sierra  Madre  mountains.  It  is  true 
that  these  irregular  troops  were  Tara- 
humari  Indians,  possibly  as  wild  and 
uncontrollable  as  the  Apaches  them- 
selves, and  that  may  extenuate  the 
treachery  to  some  extent,  but  the  fact 
remains  that  the  officers  in  command 
were  not  Indians,  but  Mexicans. 
Geronimo  Surrenders  to  General  Miles. 

On  April  2,  1886,  Gen.  Miles,  super- 
seding Crook,  took  command  of  the 
Department  of  Arizona,  and  in  his 
"Personal  Recollections"  he  speaks  of 
finding  here,  stationed  at  Fort  Hua- 
chuca,  a  "fair-haired,  blue-eyed  young 
man  of  great  intellect,  manly  qualities 
and  resolute  spirit,  a  splendid  type  of 
American  manhood".  This  "fair-hair- 
ed, blue-eyed  young  man"  of  1886  was 
at  the  time  Assistant  Surgeon  in  the 
Army.  He  is  now  Major  General  Leon- 
ard Wood,  late  Chief  of  Staff,  U.  S. 
Army. 

On  the  4th  of  September  following 
Miles's  assuming  command,  Geronimo 
and  his  band  surrendered  to  him,  and 
on  September  8th  they  left  Fort  Bowie 
for  Fort  Marion,  Florida.  The  point 
of  surrender  to  Miles  was  at  Skeleton 
canyon,  in  Mexico,  about  65  miles 
south  of  Fort  Bowie.  The  surrender  of 
Geronimo  may  be  fixed  as  the  date  of 
the  termination  of  the  many  years  of 
warfare  between  the  whites  and  the 
Apaches  as  a  tribe,  a  warfare  marked 
with  a  cruelty  on  the  part  of  the 
Apaches  probably  unparalleled  in  the 
history  of  the  four  hundred  years  of 
strife  between  the  whites  on  the  one 
side  and  the  redman  on  the  other. 

Apache   Kid   Begins   Bloody  Career. 

I  have  said  that  the  surrender  of 
Geronimo  terminated  the  many  years 


of  bloody  warfare  with  the  Apaches  as 
a  tribe,  but  the  Indian  tribes  may,  and 
do,  have  outlaws  in  their  own  tribe, 
outlaws  for  whom  as  a  tribe  they  are 
in  no  way  responsible,  and  for  whose 
acts  the  individual  and  not  the  tribe 
should  alone  be  held  amenable.  Even 
the  white  tribe  is  not  altogether  im- 
mune from  this  infliction.  In  this 
class,  among  others,  was  the  "Apache 
Kid",  who,  following  the  surrender  of 
Geronimo,  with  a  few  lawless  followers 
made  independent  warfare  on  isolated, 
helpless  settlers,  leaving  the  footprints 
of  his  bloody  work  wherever  he  went. 
The  Kid,  sometimes  called  the  Apache 
Kid,  and  at  others  simply  Kid,  was  an 
Apache  scout  occupying  the  position  of 
sergeant  under  Al  Sieber,  chief  of 
scouts.  On  June  1,  1887,  the  Kid  shot 
Sieber  on  the  San  Carlos  reservation, 
wounding  but  not  killing  him,  and  this 
marks  the  beginning  of  Kid's  series  of 
bloody  crimes. 

Immediately  following  the  shooting 
of  Sieber,  Kid,  his  squaw  and  sixteen 
other  Indians,  left  the  reservation. 
Capt.  Burgess,  Old-Time  Scout 

An  interesting  old-time  scout  is  Cap- 
tain John  D.  Burgess,  who  came  to 
Arizona  in  1873  to  look  after  some 
mining  interests  for  General  Kautz  and 
Colonel  Biddle  of  the  army,  subse- 
quently becoming  a  guide  and  scout 
for  the  government,  and  in  1882  was 
chief  of  Indian  police  at  San  Carlos. 
At  the  time  the  Kid  started  out  on  his 
career,  Captain  Burgess  was  working 
some  mines  of  his  own  at  Table  Moun- 
tain, in  the  Galiura  mountains.  The 
officer  in  command  of  the  troops  sent 
out  from  San  Carlos  in  -pursuit  of  the 
Kid  and  his  followers,  knowing  Bur- 
gess, immediately  secured  hi,«  services 
as  guide  and  trailer.  Folio  >ving  the 
Kid  and  hi?  band,  they  trailed  them 
through  to  Pantano,  where  they  had 
crossed  the  railroad,  and  going  up 
Davidson's  canyon,  and  passing  E.  L. 
Vail's  ranch  had  accommodated  them- 
selves to  a  bunch  of  his  horses.  Pass- 
ing down  the  east  side  of  the  Santa 


Ritas,  they  killed  Mike  Grace,  an  old 
miner,  near  old  Camp  Crittenden.  Here 
Captain  Lawton,  with  a  troop  of  the 
4th  Cavalry,  heading  them  off  and  forc- 
ing them  to  turn  back,  they  passed  by 
Mountain  Springs,  near  the  present 
Vail  station,  and  were  run  over  the 
Rincon  mountains,  where  they  were  so 
closely  pursued  that  while  in  camp 
they  lost  all  the  horses  they  had  stolen. 
They  now  headed  for  the  reservation, 
which  they  succeeded  in  reaching  be- 
fore Lieutenant  Carter  Johnson,  who 
was  immediately  behind,  could  over- 
take them,  and  here  they  surrendered, 
and  in  due  course  were  tried  and  sent 
first  to  San  Diego  barracks,  passing 
through  Tucson  on  September  3rd,  and 
subsequently,  in  February,  1888,  were 
transferred  to  Fort  Alcatraz,  in  the  bay 
of  San  Francisco.  Subsequently,  the 
United  States  Supreme  Court,  having 
decided  that  the  trial  of  an  Indian  de- 
volved on  the  county  in  which  the 
crime  was  committed,  ordered  that  all 
Irdians  sentenced  by  other  than  the 
territorial  courts  should  be  returned 
to  the  Territory  and  tried  by  such 
courts.  Under  this  order  the  Kid  and 
several  others  were  returned  and  tried 
by  Judge  Kibbey,  at  Globe,  and  on 
October  30,  1889,  sentenced  to  impris- 
onment at  Yuma,  and  were  being  taken 
there  by  Sheriff  Reynolds  and  his  Depu|- 
ty,  "Hunky-Dory"  Holmes.  They  were 
being  conveyed  by  stage  over  the  Final 
mountains,  via  Riverside  and  Florence. 
In  the  stage  were  Reynolds,  Holmes,  a 
Mexican  who  was  also  being  taken  to 
Yuma,  the  Kid  and  seven  other  Indi- 
ans, and  Eugene  Middleton  the  driver 
of  the  stage,  making  twelve  in  all. 

Killing  of  Sheriff  and  Deputy  and   Es- 
cape of  Kid 

The  Indians  were  handcuffed  togeth- 
er, two  and  two,  and  had  shackles  on 
their  ankles.  They  stopped  over  night 
at  Riverside,  about  half  way  between 
Globe  and  Florence.  Leaving  River- 
side early  on  the  morning  of  November 
2nd,  while  passing  up  a  heavy  sand- 
wash,  the  pulling  being  quite  heavy,  in 


order  to  relieve  the  team,  the  two  offi- 
cers and  six  of  the  Indians  got  out  to 
walk,  the  Indians  probably  having  had 
their  shackles  loosened  from  at  least 
one  ankle  to  enable  them  to  do  so;  the 
Kid  and  one  of  the  Indians  still  remain- 
ing in  the  stage.  Suddenly  the  six  In- 
dians that  were  walking  seized  the  two 
officers,  whom  they  overpowered  and 
killed  with  their  own  guns.  As  soon  as 
Middleton  discovered  what  was  taking 
place,  drawing  his  own  revolver  and 
covering  the  Kid  and  the  other  Indian 
still  in  the  stage,  he  ke'pt  them  quiet 
until,  on  standing  up  to  look  back,  he 
was  shot  through  the  face  by  one  of 
the  other  Indians.  In  the  meantime 
the  Mexican,  taking  advantage  of  the 
opportunity,  escaped.  Middleton,  al- 
though badly  wounded,  was  not  killed ; 
the  Indians,  however,  evidently  thought 
he  was  dead.  He  was,  however,  suffi- 
ciently conscious  to  realize  what  was 
taking  place  and  avoided  disabusing 
their  minds  of  their  belief,  and  in  due 
course  was  rescued  and  taken  to  Globe, 
where  he  finally  fully  recovered. 

The  eight  Indians,  now  armed  with 
a  shot-gun,  a  Winchester  rifle,  ami 
three  revolvers,  partly  stripping  Mid- 
dleton and  the  two  officers,  hastened 
to  get  away.  Stories  of  the  manner  of 
their  relieving  themselves  of  their 
shackles  do  not  agree.  One  story  is 
that,  finding  a  blacksmith-shop  near 
the  mouth  of  the  San  Pedro  river,  they 
succeeded  in  cutting  the  shackles 
loose.  Middleton's  statement  is  that, 
finding  the  keys  in  the  pockets  of  the 
Sheriff,  they  easily  freed  themselves 
of  their  irons,  and  the  plausibility  of 
this  is  quite  evident,  as  the  officers 
must  necessarily  have  had  the  keys 
with  them.  After  their  esca'pe  the  In- 
dians are  supposed  to  have  come  along 
the  west  side  of  the  Catalina  moun- 
tains, and  passed  near  the  Half-way 
House,  between  Tucson  and  Fort  Lo- 
well, as  their  tracks  were  seen  there 
crossing  the  road,  going  south. 


Sword  Presented  to  General  Miles. 
The  people  of  Arizona,  having  been 
finally  and,  it  was  felt,  permanently  re- 
lieved of  this  black  incubus  that  had 
been  hanging  over  them  for  the  many 
years  dating  back  to  their  early  com- 
ing to  the  Territory,  and  General  Miles 
having  contributed  so  largely  to  the 
result,  decided  to  do  something  mark- 
ing their  appreciation  of  the  services 
rendered  them,  and  this  found  expres- 
sion in  the  presentation  of  a  sword. 
Through  a  po'pular  subscription  a  mag- 
nificent sword  costing  $1000  was  pro- 
cured through  Tiffany  &  Company  of 
New  York,  the  blade  being  of  the  finest 
steel,  beautifully  etched,  and  the  hilt 
of  solid  gold.  The  presentation  took 
place  on  November  8th,  1887,  at  Lev- 
in's Park,  at  the  foot  of  Pennington 
street.  It  was  originally  intended  that 
the  ceremony  should  take  place  on  Sep- 
tember 4th,  the  anniversary  of  the 
surrender  of  Geronimo,  but  that  day 
falling  on  a  Sunday,  it  was  fixed  for 
Monday  the  5th.  General  Miles,  how- 
ever, having  been  Injured  by  the  over- 
turning of  the  carriage  in  which  he 
was  out  riding  at  'Santa  Monica,  Cali- 
fornia, on  August  8th,  the  presentation 
was  delayed  until  the  date  named. 
Manv  notables  in  our  country,  also  the 
governors  of  neighboring  Mexican 
States,  were  invited  to  be  present.  A 
distinguishing  feature  in  the  very  lone; 
procession  leading  to  the  Park  was 
three  hundred  mounted  Papagos,  un- 
der their  chief,  Asuncion  Ruiz,  in  all 
their  barbaric  splendor  of  feathers  and 
paint.  The  Papagos  had  always  been 
the  consistent  friends  of  the  whites 
and  the  inveterate  foes  of  the  Apaches, 
PO  they  v/ere  more  than  glad  to  par- 
ticipate in  this  event.  In  addition  to 
the  conventional  combination  usually 
found  in  parades,  there  were  the  4th 
IT.  S.  cavalry  band  and  a  platoon  of 
United  States  artillery,  William  Zeck- 
endorf,  one  of  the  very  early  pioneers, 
acting  as  grand  marshal.  One  of  the 
photographs  suggesting  this  article  is 


of  this  procession,  evidently  taken 
from  the  roof  of  one  of  the  buildings 
on  the  west  side  of  Main  street,  look- 
ing irp  Pennington  street,  and  shows 
the  parade  the  full  length  of  the  street, 
The  head  not  having  quite  reached 
Main  street.  The  presentation  was 
made  on  a  platform  erected  for  the 
purpose  in  the  Park.  Royal  A.  John- 
son was  president  of  the  day,  I  having 
the  honor  of  acting  as  secretary,  and 
Judge  W.  H.  Barnes  making  the  pres- 
entation address.  One  of  my  duties 
as  secretary  was  to  read  the  letters  of 
regret  from  those  who  had  been  invit- 
ed but  were  unable  to  be  present. 
Among  these  I  now  recall  letters  from 
Secretary  of  War  Wm.  C.  Endicott, 
Gen.  Sherman,  and  R.  G.  Ingersoll. 
Among  those  present  were  Major 
'Chaffee,  subsequently  Lieutenant  Gen- 
eral, and  Lieutenant  Wood,  now  Major 
General.  The  other  of  the  two  photo- 
graphs is  of  General  Miles  and  those 
on  the  -platform  with  him,  taken  as 
the  general  was  delivering  his  address 
accepting  the  sword.  In  the  evening, 
following  the  presentation,  there  was  a 
reception  and  ball  at  the  San  Xavier 
hotel,  since  burned  down,  near  the 
station;  this  hotel  at  the  time  was 
kept  by  Wheeler  and  Perry. 

Johnny  Greenleaf  Mistakes  Scouts  for 
Kid. 

As  illustrating  the  trying  experien- 
ces that  one  might  be  subject  to  dur- 
ing these  troublous  times  when  the 
fear  of  the  Kid  was  in  the  very  air,  I 
may  relate  one  of  a  friend  of  mine, 
Johnny  Greenleaf.  Johnny  was  sink- 
ing a  well  on  his  ranch,  some  distance 
from  the  house,  and  had  just  ridden 
to  where  his  two  men  were  at  work, 
one  in  the  well  and  the  other  on  top. 
Suddenly  a  number  of  Indians  came  in 
sight,  approaching  the  well.  Recog- 
nizing them  as  Apaches,  he  naturally 
assumed  them  to  be  the  Kid  and  some 
of  his  followers,  and  obeying  the  in- 
stinct of  human  nature,  that  of  self- 
preservation,  cried  out,  "Here  comes 


the  Kid!"  quickly  mounted  his  horse 
and  started  to  escape.  He  had  gone 
but  a  short  distance,  however,  till  that 
chivalrous  s'pirit  which  makes  one  sac- 
rifice his  own  life  rather  than  cowardly 
desert  his  comrade,  asserted  itself,  and 
he  immediately  turned  and  rode  back 
to  his  men,  both  of  whom  were  now  on 
top,  realizing  at  the  same  time  that 
there  was  absolutely  nothing  that  he 
could  do,  neither  he  nor  his  men  hav- 
ing a  shooting-iron  of  any  kind,  all  of 
their  weapons  having  been  left  at  the 
house.  The  Indians  now  approaching 
the  well,  Johnny  asked  them  in  Eng- 
lish what  they  were  hunting  and  where 
they  were  going.  One  of  them,  speak- 
ing English  very  poorly,  in  trying  to 
make  himself  understood  mentioned 
the  Kid  in  such  a  way  that  Johnny  un- 
derstood him  to  say  that  he  was  the 
Apache  Kid.  This  simply  confirmed 
what  Johnny  had  thought,  but  it  so 
startled  him  that  for  a  while  he  could 
barely  speak;  for  if  this  were  the  Kid, 
there  was  little  chance  for  the  lives  of 
either  Johnny  or  his  men.  Finally,  re- 
covering his  nerve  and  asking  some- 
thing else,  the  Indian  succeeded  in 
making  it  understood  that  they  were 
scouts  from  San  Carlos  and  were  seek- 
ing the  Kid.  You  can  well  imagine  the 
relief  of  the  three  men  when  they 
realized  that  they  were  in  no  danger. 

What  Would  You  Do? 

I  think  I  hear  one  of  my  readers 
saying  that  Johnny's  attempt  to  esca'pe 
was  a  cowardly  thing  to  do.  Yes? 
What  would  you  have  done,  and  what 
would  I,  under  the  same  circumstan- 
ces? Unless  idiotic,  or  too  frightened 
to  mount  the  horse,  we  would  have 
done  just  what  Johnny  did.  Assuming 
that  this  had  been  the  Kid,  as  Johnny 
firmly  believed,  his  escape  meant  the 
loss  of  but  two  lives,  instead  of  the 
loss  of  the  same  two  and  the  sacrifice 
of  a  third — his  own — if  he  remained. 
But  no  man  knows  just  exactly  what 
he  would  do  under  a  certain  trying 
condition  until  he  has  been  subjected 


to  the  test  of  that  very  condition.  He 
may  think  he  does,  but  he  doesn't.  But 
having  gone  less  than  100  yards, 
Johnny's  mind  has  had  time  to  react, 
and  the  chivalrous  spirit  asserts  itself, 
and  he  turns  and  rides  back — to  what? 
To  his  death,  he  has  every  reason  to 
believe.  But  having  gotten  the  100 
yards  away,  would  you  or  I  have  turn- 
ed and  ridden  back  to  our  own  certain 
death?  Is  there  not  a  possibility  that 
were  the  world  wide  enough  and  the 
horse  strong  enough  we  might  still  be 
going?  In  your  imagination  don't 
place  the  standard  too  high  for  the 
nerve  you  think  you  possess,  if  at  the 
time  you  are  absolutely  in  no  danger. 

Stoicism   of   Indian 

The  following  incident  shows  some- 
thing of  the  character  of  these  Ish- 
maelites  of  the  desert.  On  one  occasion 
five  of  them  had  been  tried  at  Flor- 
ence for  the  killing  of  someone  in  the 
Superstition  mountains,  and  sentenced 
to  be  hanged.  The  night  previous  to 
the  day  of  the  hanging,  while  in  their 
cells,  with  the  death-watch  outside, 
three  of  them,  to  avoid  the  ignominy 
of  death  by  hanging,  committed  sui- 
cide by  self-strangulation.  This  they 
could  do  only  by  each  putting  a  cord 
around  his  neck  and  deliberately  chok- 
ing himself  to  death.  The  three  were 
found  dead  in  the  morning  when  the 
guards  entered  their  cells. 

Of  course  it  is  not  possible  to  recall 
the  names  of  all  of  the  many  whose 
lives  were  a  sacrifice  to  the  safety  and 
prosperity  of  the  great  commonwealth 
that  was  to  follow,  but  I  have  in  mind 
that  on  June  7,  1886,  Thos.  Hunt,  a 
prospector,  was  killed  near  Harshaw, 
and  on  June  9  of  the  same  year  Henry 
Baston  was  killed  near  Arivaca.  On 
September  22,  1888,  W.  B.  Horton,  post 
trader  at  San  Carlos,  was  killed  by  one 
of  the  Indians  on  the  reservation.  But 
in  this  case  punishment  was  swift,  as 
the  Indian  police  almost  immediately 
killed  the  murderer  while  he  was  at- 


tempting to  escape  from  the  reserva- 
tion. 

"Walapai"  Clark  and  the  Kid 
One  of  our  early  frontier  characters 
was  E.  A.  Clark,  familiarly  known  as 
"Walapai",  having  gained  the  title 
years  ago  when  in  the  government  ser- 
vice as  chief  of  the  Hualapai  scouts. 
Clark  was  a  giant  in  stature,  measur- 
ing six  feet  three,  absolutely  fearless 
and  in  those  olden  times  epually  tire- 
less. Coming  to  the  Territory  in  '69, 
his  life  and  experiences  here  would  fill 
a  volume  of  intensely  interesting  read- 
ing, but  in  this  limited  article  I  can 
mention  only  a  few  of  his  closing  In- 
dian experiences,  the  culminating  one 
— the  one  of  the  greatest  service  to 
the  Territory — resulting  in  the  death 
of  that  outlaw  and  terror  of  the  boruer, 
this  same  Apache  Kid.  Clark's  first 
experience  with  the  Kid  was  on  June 
3,  1887,  two  days  after  his  shooting  of 
Al  -Sieber.  At  the  time,  Clark  was  liv- 
ing at  his  ranch,  the  Oak  Grove,  in  the 
Galiura  mountains,  about  twelve  miles 
east  of  the  San  Pedro  river,  but  was 
absent,  his  two  partners,  John  Scanlan 
and  William  Diehl,  being  at  home.  The 
Kid  and  his  followers  coming  across 
the  country  from  San  Carlos,  stole 
fifteen  horses  from  William  Atchley, 
then  came  on  to  Clark's  place,  three 
miles  further  on.  At  the  time,  Diehl 
was  about  150  yards  from  the  house, 
cutting  some  poles  for  a  corral,  when 
Scanlan,  who  was  in  the  house,  heard 
three  shots,  and,  seizing  his  gun,  ran 
out,  and  as  he  did  so  saw  three  Indians 
coming  towards  the  house,  and  firing 
at  them,  they  immediately  sought  shel- 
ter. When  Scanlan  fired  at  the  Indians 
one  of  them  lost  a  big  sombrero  which 
he  was  wearing,  and  which,  probably 
very  much  to  his  regret,  he  was  unable 
to  recover.  They  then  rounded  up  a 
number  of  Scanlan's  horses,  not  far 
away,  and  seemingly  tried  to  get  Scan- 
lan to  come  out  to  protect  his  horses, 
and  thus  enable  them  to  get  a  shot  at 
him;  but  being  unable  to  do  this,  they 


left,  taking  the  horses  with  them.  As 
soon  as  they  had  -gone,  Scanlan  went 
to  where  Diehl  was  and  found  him 
dead,  the  Indians  having  shot  him. 

Clark  Vows  Vengeance 
Clark,  returning  home  a  day  or  two 
later  and  finding  his  partner  dead, 
vowed  vengeance  on  the  Kid,  and  this, 
several  years  later,  he  found  oppor- 
tunity to  gratify.  A  few  months  later, 
Clark  and  Scanlan  having  occasion  to 
be  away,  left  a  young  engineer,  J.  A. 
Mercer,  at  the  house,  with  a  caution  to 
be  on  the  lookout  for  the  Indians.  Soon 
after,  Mercer  discovered  three  of  them 
crawling  up  towards  the  house,  but 
was  in  time  to  seize  a  rifle  and  fire  at 
them,  and  as  he  did  so  they  broke  and 
ran.  However,  they  took  five  of  Clark's 
horses  in  exchange  for  three  of  their 
own,  which  they  killed  before  leaving. 
For  several  years  Clark  impatiently 
bided  his  time.  To  him  the  mills  of 
the  gods  were,  indeed,  grinding  slowly, 
but  they  were  grinding,  and  the  time 
was  approaching  when  the  grist  should 
be  delivered.  In  the  meantime  the  Kid 
was  continuing  to  lengthen  his  trail  of 
blood.  Now  here,  now  there,  the  wily 
outlaw  was  ever  at  his  work.  A  mur- 
der here  today,  he  is  heard  of  one  hun- 
dred miles  away  tomorrow,  leaving  a 
trail  behind  him  marked  by  where  he 
had  changed  his  mount  by  the  stealing 
of  a  new  one  at  some  ranch,  leaving 
his  old  one  dead,  in  exchange.  This 
was  his  pra-ctice,  killing  the  animal 
he  might  leave  bv  stabbing  in  the  side, 
thus  avoiding  the  sacrifice  of  any  of 
his  ammunition,  which  he  could  ill  af- 
ford to  lose.  Being  an  outlaw  with  his 
own  people,  he  found  it  difficult  to  re- 
plenish his  belt. 

Kid  Nears  End  of  His  Trail  of  Blood 
But  at  last  the  end  of  his  career  of 
robbery  and  bloodshed  is  approaching. 
The  opportunity  that  'Clark  has  been 
waiting  all  these  years  is  nigh  at  hand. 
The  Apache  Kid's  race  is  about  run. 
Clark  had  been  away  from  home,  and 


when  returning,  on  February  4,  1894, 
passing  by  the  house  of  Emmerson,  a 
neighbor,  about  a  mile  from  his  own 
home,  he  noticed  the  tracks  of  three 
Indians  about  the  house,  and  going  in- 
side, found  they  had  robbed  it  of  its 
contents.  Going  on  home,  he  found  his 
partner,  Scanlan,  whom  the  Indians 
had  not  disturbed,  and  said  to  him, 
"Scanlan,  your  old  friend  the  Kid  has 
been  around  again". 

Soon  after,  Clark,  taking  his  gun, 
went  out  of  the  house  for  the  purpose 
of  "scouting  the  country  around"  and 
seeing  whether  he  might  get  sight  of 
the  Indians.  Going  to  the  top  of  a 
peak  near  by,  where  he  could  overlook 
the  surrounding  country  without  un- 
duly exposing  himself,  he  awaited 
events,  not  realizing  what  an  approach- 
ing one  should  mean  to  himself,  and  to 
an  old  enemy  on  whom  he  had  vowed 
vengeance  for  the  death  of  his  old  time 
partner,  and  that  this  event  would 
mark  an  era  in  a  life  ever  filled  with 
its  dangers,  not  one  of  which  had  ever 
been  shirked,  but  always  bravely  met. 
The  opportunity  for  which  he  had 
waited,  and  in  his  way — a  way  prob- 
ably familiar  only  to  the  "old  scout" — 
had  prayed  for,  was  but  a  few  short 
hours  away.  The  language  of  his  pray- 
ers, except  for  its  fervency,  may  not 
have  been  up  to  the  orthodox  standard, 
but  he  knew  what  he  wanted,  and  in 
asking  for  it  used  the  language  with 
which  he  was  familiar — the  language 
of  the  desert  and  the  mountain,  the 
camp-fire  and  the  trail. 

Closing  Act  in  Great  Drama 

'Clark  had  been  there  for  probably 
twenty  minutes,  when,  looking  off 
across  an  intervening  canyon,  he  no- 
ticed three  Indians  approaching  his 
horse  where  it  was  grazing,  about  1500 
yards  away.  The  Indians  not  having 
discovered  Clark,  who,  knowing  it 
would  be  impossible  to  get  across  the 
canyon  in  time  to  save  his  horse, 
raised  the  sights  of  his  gun,  and  fired 
at  them,  not  expecting,  however,  to 


hit  any  one  of  them  at  that  distance, 
but  hoping  to  frighten  them  away  from 
his  horse.  On  firing,  Clark  immediate- 
ly ducked  into  the  canyon,  out  of  sight 
of  the  Indians,  who  were  evidently 
frightened  by  the  shot.  Waiting  there 
until  dusk,  he  cautiously  crawled  to- 
wards his  horse  for  the  purpose  or  tak- 
ing him  to  the  house,  and  was  within 
about  seventy-five  yards  of  him,  it  be- 
ing too  dark  to  see  an  object  distinctly 
at  any  distance,  when  he  saw  two  In- 
dians approaching  the  horse,  and  only  a 
few  steps  from  the  animal  and  about 
50  yards  from  where  Clark  was.  Owing 
to  the  darkness  it  was  impossible  to 
more  than  distinguish  the  two  Indians, 
who  were  but  a  few  feet  apart,  one 
ahead  of  the  other.  These  were  subse- 
sequently  found  to  be  the  Kid  and  his 
squaw,  the  squaw  in  front  and  nearest 
to  Clark,  but  owing  to  the  darkness  it 
was  impossible  to  distinguish  one  from 
the  other.  Clark  instantly  raised  his 
gun  and  fired  at  the  one  nearest  to 
him,  but,  being  unable  to  see  the 
sights,  could  only  take  a  quick  aim 
along  the  barrel.  By  his  long  experi- 
ence with  a  gun  he  knew  the  danger 
of  overshooting  in  the  dark,  and  made 
allowance  accordingly.  As  Clark  fired 
there  came  a  simultaneous  report  from 
the  Kid's  rifle  and  an  outcry  from  the 
squaw,  and  from  the  character  of  this 
outcry,  Clark  knew  that  he  had  made 
the  mistake  of  firing  at  the  wrong  In- 
dian. The  ball  from  the  Kid's  gun 
whistled  alarmingly  close  to  Clark's 
head,  but  fortunately  did  no  harm.  Fol- 
lowing the  shots,  the  two  Indians  im- 
mediately dropped  to  the  ground,  and 
as  fast  as  the  old  scout  could  work  his 
rifle  he  "pumped  the  lead"  into  where 
they  had  dropped,  firing  several  shots. 
The  Indian,  however,  fired  but  the  one 
shot.  Clark  then  made  a  run  for  his 
horse,  but  the  animal  being  frightened, 
he  was  unable  to  catch  him. 


Not  knowing  how  many  of  the  Indi- 
ans there  might  be  about,  Clark  imme- 
diately set  out  for  Mammoth,  on  the 
San  Pedro,  where  he  procured  a  small 
posse,  and  was  back  at  the  scene  of  the 
shooting  by  morning,  finding  the  squaw 
dead  a  short  distance  from  where  she 
had  been  shot.  Following  the  Kid's 
trail,  they  found  that  he  had  hopped  on 
me  foot  to  where  he  had  left  his  horse, 
one  of  his  legs  evidently  being  broken. 
Scouts  from  San  Carlos,  following  his 
trail,  found  some  bloody  rags  where  he 
had  built  a  little  fire,  and  probably 
dressed  his  wounds. 

Kid's  Career  Ended 

Thus  ended  the  murderous  career  of 
the  Kid,  the  terror  of  the  Southwest. 
Clark  had  undoubtedly  hit  him  with 
one  or  more  of  his  shots.  Where  or 
how  soon  after  he  may  have  died,  no 
white  man  knows,  Clark  being  the  last 
one  to  see  him,  as  the  two  shots  sim- 
ultaneously rang  out  on  the  silence  of 
that  night.  'Had  it  been  the  Kid  in- 
stead of  the  squaw,  Clark  would  have 
earned  the  large  reward  that  was  of- 
fered for  him  dead  or  alive.  Tom 
Horn,  an  old  scout,  who  spoke  the 
Apache  language  like  a  native,  came 
from  Denver  subsequently,  hoping  that 
by  some  chance  the  Kid  might  still  be 
living  somewhere  and  that  he  might 
earn  the  reward.  The  mother  and  the 
sister,  however,  both  assured  him  that 
the  Kid  was  dead,  but  beyond  this 
would  say  nothing. 

It  would  seem  that  there  could  be  no 
more  fitting  ending  to  this  little  sketch 
than  its  dedication  to  the  memory  of 
those  old-timers,  makers  of  early-day 
history,  the  old  pioneers.  Each  well 
played  his  individual  part  in  that  great 
border  drama.  On  them  the  curtain 
has  rung  down  for  the  last  time.  To 
them  the  succeeding  generations  owe 
much. 


'J 


